Writing About not Writing

Resting- Sarah Casewit Photography: http://www.sarahcasewit.com/p/wildlife.html

On June 5th I had my first actual free day. No program, no plans, just me and the world. It was enlivening but also very nerve-racking. The fear that I developed on that first totally free day followed me for the next couple days and then eventually decided that it would step directly in front of me. I then followed that fear until today. I've been very busy behind this fear. Whereas I used to wear busy-ness like a protective shield ("Read between the lines," I was saying. "I am busy because I am productive, I am directed, I've got important things to do"). Right now I feel a little ashamed of the busy-ness and also a little ashamed of the fear. Hell, if we're going to talk about shame, I've also been ashamed of the obsessions and ashamed of the body and ashamed of the stagnation. Mostly, I'm ashamed of the shame.

I'm busy doing these things: interning at the World Trade Center, doing at least 15 hours of therapy a week (the 12 hours of EIOP, seeing a therapist there, then seeing my own therapist and nutritionist), looking for a "big girl" job, picking up odd jobs for cash, and trying to maintain new and old social relationships. I've been fun busy, like seeing movies with my sisters, going out with friends, taking new work-out classes and dating a new boy. But I've also been hiding busy, and it is evident in the fact that I haven't written my blog, done my laundry, taken time for myself, felt fatigued, and obsessed about exercise. In fact, the fear really evolved from this worry: Here I am, fresh out of treatment, doing the exact same things that I've been doing for the past year, obsessing about the exact same nonsensical ideas (food and exercise), feeling anxious and worried about the same things (failure, friends, the future) and trying to run in my life in nearly the exact same way. Treatment was an investment in myself. Where was my return?

I felt depressed, out-of-control, and like a failure for about five days straight. One day in particular I could not stop worrying. In the morning I let these worries have their space; I used my coping strategies to acknowledge the thoughts and let them pass by, not fighting but respecting them. By the end of the day I was so tired of trying. The thoughts flew through my head and I felt like someone was slowly pushing me down until I was buried completely underground, still standing upright. Why, why, could I not have faith in myself? Why did I keep thinking about food and exercise?! Did I even know what color the sky was today??

Treatment taught me how to use coping skills to stay in touch with myself. It reminded me what it meant to live a satisfying life where one's inner landscape is pruned just as they plant the grain to feed their outer selves. I realize that I can never return to living a value-less, emotion-less life. Some ways that I do that are by writing, reading, having down-time, pursuing my values, doing art, practicing self-care, seeking connection with those around me, and learning. I can do all of these things because I am a whole person with a whole life; finding space is not sacrifice, it's living.

Some days I find these strategies easy to pursue. The other day I was trying to get across town to my sister's swim meet (value: family) and found myself stuck in bumper-to-bumper traffic. I was tired; I had done nothing for myself that day and my brain felt like a bored block. I decided to support my sister from afar, got myself some dinner and ate it with a book in the park. I continuously texted my sister and my family for updates while watching the sun fall quietly behind the trees. As I walked slowly home I felt connected, alive and re-energized. And it only took about 30 minutes.

The thing is, I don't feel all that sure in my ability to employ strategies so well, especially when my obsessions threaten to get the best of me. My obsessions are much less strong when I have a schedule: I will exercise at this time, do this work, see this friend. On the one hand it is valuable to appreciate that scheduling can aid my mental peace. But there is a fine line between scheduling and using a plan to alleviate the fear that comes from the unknown. It makes me very tired, too.

From the point when I was first cognizant of the thought that "it's all the same," I've been surveying my life to see what I can change. The alterations scare the heck out of me. There's a reason that I have yet to try these things: they require a risk and cannot guarantee a reward. I also continue to chastise myself for "not being able to handle" my life or recovery (that's a familiar, annoying little thought). What is "handling" one's life, though? Does that mean that I can do everything perfectly and never get stressed or worried? Does that mean I always make the best decision? Does that mean I do not suffer from depressed days? That I've got everything under control? No changes necessary here, sir; I've got it covered.

One of the most telling things my therapist shared was the fact that following our values includes taking risks. When you follow your values you open yourself up to the fear that they might not be fully achieved or that you might gain some tough insight on yourself. You might even realize that you don't actually value that thing. But the reward you get from living a directed, satisfied life far outweighs any fear that might occur when getting there.

It's time for me to try something new. I've been living this way for a while now, and while I know that I can make it work given my new outlook on life, I don't think that I want to stick with the status quo. I've still got 14 hours of therapy a week to help me process risk- I might as well use it. That's what this time is for.

I'm going to quit my internship. I find so much value in the relationships gained and work that I've done there, but after nearly a year, I think my time is drawing to a close. Plus, it's still unpaid. Instead I am going to donate all my efforts to searching for a job that can help me follow my larger career aspirations. I'm going to spend the rest of my time forming the patterns that I want to have for the rest of my life. Patterns of self-care, self-exploration, down-time, and flexibility. I'm going to have many unplanned days that make me scared and I'm going to just live them. Risks include: having no money; feeling like a failure because I can't find a job; feeling lonely; regretting my decision; being dependent; over-exercise; obsessing; and more. Really, though, the worst-possible case scenario (having to move back in with my parents and admitting that I've got to pursue different career options) isn't too bad. It's the little moments that I'm afraid of. It's silly to make those little passings bigger than the worst outcome, isn't it?

When I committed to treatment I committed to leaving a full and productive life, a learning life. I am still committed. That entails experimenting, trying what I haven't tried before, and mindfully following my own success.

I want to thank you all for standing by. One of the ways I feel most fulfilled is being in contact with friends and family like you. Look for my e-mails, cards and letters. And give me a call if you'd ever like to hang out. I've got a pretty open schedule.